Knighthood: Birth of a Legend
by LordAdamant
Summary: Lucien is a young squire prepared to start his own story, when circumstances throw him into the middle of a war, a betrayal, and a prophecy. With friends and foes on all sides, the line between them uncertain, will he save the mysterious and innocent maiden Mena? Or will he fall beneath the blade of an ancient evil sect? Rated Teen for violence and implied sexuality. /HIATUS/
1. Chapter 1

The world of Pokemon, known for its immense variety of life and their symbiotic relationship with humans. Battles, contests, family, these are a way of life to many. But, what if the world had taken a different turn? Behold, a world where humanity did not emerge as we know it, instead coming from ranks of Pokemon, some species entirely breaking away from standard evolution, others remaining as we know them. Their society would be akin and unlike anything known, their own history and legends and stories.

This is one such story, of a young knight who is pure of heart, an infamous sell-sword with no equal, an innocent princess with hidden power, a paranoid king with good intentions, and a war the likes of which never seen. There will be love and hate and war and friends, and when everything is said and done, a legend shall be born.

()

Deep in the forest, the sounds of metal clashing against metal can be heard for miles around, upsetting the pidgey and spearow that call the area home. Shouting can be heard with it, the grunts and exclamations of a boy on the cusp of full manhood, still somewhat light. The source of these noises are two individuals, eyes locked in a clearing. One is the source of the shouts, a young lucario with silvery highlights instead of tan, wearing a simple cotton shirt and durable pants. His only armor are vambraces and greaves, his only weapon a battered training short sword, ready to snap in half at a slight breeze it seems. He's somewhat tall for his species, a few inches short of six feet tall, but still very lean, and his eyes are a piercing blue, the kind that gaze into your soul itself. His opponent is a massive zoroark, easily over six-and-a-half feet tall, decked out in heavy armor of a mysterious black metal. His hair is black with red highlights, the reverse of what is usual for his species, and his eyes are a dark, blood-red color. His sword is a masterpiece, an almost five foot long blade with another foot of length for the handle, the blade made of the same mysterious black metal.

The two are in stark contrast to each other, dark and light, and it shows in their stances and expressions. The lucario is ready, open and ready to move at a moment's notice, his face animated and his breath coming in pants and gasps from exertion. His hand is on a death grip on his weathered blade. The zoroark, on the other hand, is relaxed in his stance, legs set to remain immobile against anything. His sword is lightly held in a single hand and his face betrays nothing.

The lucario jumps forward without a sound, without any tell, aiming his beaten sword with pinpoint accuracy. The zoroark moves even faster, his massive blade moving to block faster than the eye can see. The young blue-eyed warrior pushes his attack, striking faster and faster, trying for any opening he can find. The clashing of swords produces a melody all its own as the pair battle furiously. Until, at a tremendous collision of blades and wills, as the ground itself cracks, the Lucario's sword snaps in half, throwing the young warrior off balance. In a flash, the Zoroark's massive claymore is leveled against the smaller combatant's throat. The larger one sighs, sheathing his blade on his back with a light flourish, as the younger kneels, tears dancing at the edges of his eyes, as he holds the remains of the shattered sword.

"You were doing very well, little brother," the Zoroark says, his whole demeanor lightening. His voice is strong and deep, it speaks of experience beyond his two decades. "You might have had me if you had a worthy blade."

"It doesn't matter. I failed..." The Lucario's reply is mournful, his tone rapidly changing to annoyed as his brother ruffles his hair. "Hey!"

"Lucien," the elder says, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I have trained you now for almost a decade, ever since I allowed you to wield a blade, and you have grown mightily. Despite your substandard blade, our bouts last an average of fifteen minutes a piece these days. How many others do you know can face me for even ten?"

Lucien scowls. "Zerran, brother, we both know you aren't putting your all into it. You're afraid you're going to hurt me, and rightfully so. No one can beat you. No one ever has. This trial you have set is impossible!"

"Lucien! What have I said about that word?" Zerran's demeanor suddenly turns cold, back to the role of the teacher.

Lucien seems to crumple, his anger gone. "It's not impossible, we just haven't gotten around to doing it yet."

"Exactly. We do not fail. We do not lose. We do not surrender. Nothing is impossible. These are lessons I have taught you again and again. Never forget them. We were born of blood and war, we have been tempered by the world and by this life we live. You can survive alone in the woods for months at a time, you can wield a blade better than most men of twice your years." Lucien huffs at his brother's long exposition, and Zerran laughs. "But you are still young and naive about many things, and until I am certain no one can hurt you, you may not begin your journey. Now then, rest up, drink some water, and grab another practice sword. We'll spar again after you're rested."

Lucien nods, resolute once more, as he runs off. Zerran meanwhile sits down on a nearby stump in the clearing they use to train. He looks around at their home. At one end of the clearing is a large tree they've cleared out over the years and in which they have made a home. Lucien made the different levels, putting the sleeping chambers towards the top, the kitchen at the bottom and partially underground, a pantry attached. Zerran himself had made the main room of the home in which they rested at the end of the day and in which they took their meals, as well as the training ground, with its practice dummies and targets.

Meanwhile, Lucien heads off to the nearby river, where he takes off his armor before jumping in the water. Sighing, he lies on his back, floating in the gentle waters, looking up into the sky. "I almost had it. I know it," he says to himself. "If it hadn't broken, I could have done it." Grunting in frustration, he sits up, shaking the water out of his hair. "Alright. I'll have to get a better sword. But this time I *know* I can do it." Scrambling out of the water, he squeezes the water out of his tunic before donning his armor and making his way back. He's met by his brother, who's holding a particular sword.

"Lucien, I think it's high time I gave you this." Lucien tentatively reaches out, taking the sheathed blade. "It's something I made some time ago, about the same time I made your vambraces and greaves." Lucien looks up in surprise, realising what that means. "Yup. It's forged from the same meteorite. And now, I think you're ready. Draw your blade, and let's go." Stepping back, Zerran draws his blade, holding it more tightly than before. "I won't pull any punches, so now's the time to give me your all."

Nodding, Lucien straps the sword to his hip before drawing the blade, the sound of it sliding against the sheath producing a vibrant tone. It's of a pure silver tone, the same as his armor. Lucien takes his position, blade pointed down in front of him, body coiled. In complete silence he lunges forward, the match started.

His blows are even faster than before, his new blade lighter, stronger, and more streamlined than the old one, Zerran matching him blow for blow. Flipping over his larger opponent, Lucien tries to slash down Zerran's back. Unfortunately for him, Zerran shifts, the blow sliding off and knocking Lucien off balance, but not for long. He rolls with his fall to a kneeling position where he blocks three strikes from his brother, each one pushing him back along the ground. Jumping high, Lucien puts all of his force into a massive overhead strike, at the apex of his leap firing aura from his feet to launch him down faster. Zerran smiles, holding his blade to block, a darker aura covering him. The collision is intense, the ground cracking up around the two, Zerran grunts, feeling the ground shift beneath his as he is moved back, just an inch. Landing, Lucien moves almost preternaturally, leaving his image behind to strike, his blade stopping just short of his brother's throat.

Panting, the brothers sit there, blades poised to strike the other down with a motion. Laughing, Zerran lowers his blade before enveloping his brother in a massive hug. Lucien laughs, crying in joy.

"You've done it, bro! You fought me to a stand-still!" Laughing, Zerran spins his younger sibling around in circles before setting him down. Calming down, the two bow to each other, sheathing their blades. Smiling more than usual, Zerran leads the way to their tree home. "Congratulations, my brother. You have passed my trial. You may go on your journey." Chuckling, he grabs his brother in a choke-hold, giving him a noogie. "I know you had it in you."

Laughing, Lucien slips out. "I guess I did."

Inside, the two take off their armor and weapons, hanging them on their stands in their rooms. Lucien is down first, having less armor to remove, wearing a new tunic and his leggings. Zerran is down some time later, wearing a fine black shirt and pants, an amulet around his neck. Lucien has already started cooking their dinner for that night when Zerran picks him up, setting him down outside the kitchen. "I cook tonight. You get to relax and celebrate." Lucien shrugs, not passing up a break, and heads toward the den, grabbing a book and sitting in his chair. It's a book of legends, telling of the ancient legendaries who used to rule all, the mighty kings Groudon, Kyogre, and Rayquaza, among others. And above all of the legendaries, the mighty Arceus. The particular legend he was reading spoke of the Order of Regigigas, of his three priests, and of a noble Bisharp knight on a quest to return balance to the region.

After a few minutes, Zerran enters the den carrying two steaming bowls of soup. The brothers eat in companionable silence for a time, finishing their soup off rather quickly. It is now, full and content, that Zerran turns to his younger brother, his ward, and asks an important question. "Where do you plan on going?"

Lucien sits back, unsure of where to go despite thinking about that exact question for a long time. "I want to go somewhere I can grow even stronger, somewhere I can test my skills. I was thinking Kantus. It is well known for its Arena, after all. That or maybe Kale. It's at war with Shin right now, and I could easily enlist as a sell-sword."

Zerran ponders these ideas, liking the concept, but unsure of the locations. "Why not travel to one of the Mountains? See the places of legend, learn from masters, maybe even meet the Old Kings." The brothers go back and forth like this for a while, debating the merits of the separate Sacred Mountains and of the benefits of Hinnae, Jatun, and the minor kingdoms. As the sun sets over their part of the forest, the brothers head up to their sleeping area, Zerran once more posing the question of "Where?"

"I've decided to check out Hinnae," Lucien announces. "It's known for its masters of battle, and it's got roving bandits I can practice on."

Zerran laughs, proud of his brother's choice. "Sounds like a great plan. I expect to see you back in three years, no sooner. Understand?" Lucien answers with a mock salute, and the brothers wish each other goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

So, despite receiving literally no feedback at all, I'm going ahead and updating this again. Please, someone read this monstrosity.

()

In the kingdom of Rinnar, in an ancient castle, sits the monarch of the region, Solomon, a regal Mewtwo with long, light purple hair and purple eyes. He usually wears his robes of office in a royal purple shade with a simple but effective crown, along with a trademark scowl. A fair king, he can be a bit intense, in particular concerning matters of his younger sister, who stands before him now begging to be allowed to go to the Summer Festival in two months time. The princess, Mena, is a beautiful and young Mew, usually wearing her bright pink hair short and brushed over her left eye, a shining aquamarine color. She isn't very fond of make up, and prefers light, comfortable dresses to the current fashions. At the moment her kind face is red in anger, or as close to anger as she can muster, over her brother's repeated insistence that she may not go.

"You are not allowed out of this castle without an armed escort, and that is final," he decrees, cutting her off. "You are far to valuable to me for me to allow you somewhere so open without guardians. So when you can decide upon a body guard and keep him for longer than a week, you may go." Mena scowls at her overprotective brother, but curtsies, grumbling an "As you wish, my king," before turning around and storming out in a huff, followed by her guard this week, an old Medicham of much repute. He would likely be replaced before the day was over with.

Sighing, Solomon slumps on his throne, rubbing his temples. His chamberlain and chief adviser, a wise old Alakazam that served Solomon's father, the previous king, steps forward, stroking his long beard and humming. "You do realize that the only guard she would let remain for longer than a week would be a young one whom she fell in love with. Remember that Sawk from the East? If memory serves, you had him taken away in the middle of the night and sold to a wandering circus." He chuckles at his king's scowl, sure of his safety. "Don't scowl, sire, it is beneath you. Now, my suggestion, is find a young knight whom you do not hate and assign him when that Medicham gets the sack." As he spoke these words, the old warrior they spoke of came running down the steps, his luggage in hand and fear in his eyes, running straight out of the gates.

Solomon sighs and slumps lower down than before. "Dear Kalam, I do not think there is so easy a solution to my troubles. If there were perhaps a young knight worthy of her, I might allow it, but without such a knight, I am forced to find new guards each week and force her to remain in the castle."

Humming, Kalam starts to walk away. "Sire, if you trust me, give it a month. Your solution will walk through that door." Before Solomon can reply, the old adviser is gone, leaving a confused and annoyed regent to stew.

()

Morning comes for the brother knights, and Lucien is up bright and early packing supplies for his travels, food and tools and such. On this day, Zerran does not even don his armor, instead helping his brother prepare and pack food. Long before midday, the young squire is as ready as anyone could be, his best tunic and leggings worn under his vambraces and greaves, his sword strapped on his side and a sack of supplies on his back. Zerran stands a moment, committing his brother to memory before hugging him close. "Make me proud brother."

"Always," Lucien replies, his voice uncertain. Without another word he exits his home of the past eight years and starts walking through the woods, headed north. After an hour, he has officially gone further than ever before, officially in uncharted territory for him. With a deep breath, he steps out onto the road and starts making his way down the path. Barely ten minutes later he's knocked out, bound, and tossed into the back of a bandit cart, headed towards the small kingdom of Salis, just to the west of Rinnar and its primary trade partner.

Hours later, the young knight wakes up in pain in the back of the cart, the scene of his failure imprinted on his mind. Distracted by his new surroundings, a single bandit had run up behind him, clubbing him upside the head before he could react, before stripping him of his armor, weapon, and supplies, placing them somewhere else. Tears dance at the corner of his eyes, morose over this rapid defeat and the prospect of never returning home to his brother. Before long, the cart rolls to a stop, from the sounds of it just inside some sort of bazaar. In moments, a bandit has hopped up back and grabbed Lucien, tossing him to a larger one below, who carries him to a line-up of similarly bound individuals, the truth quickly evident: He'd been kidnapped by slavers and was about to be sold as inventory. The disgrace chafes at him, but he remains calm, knowing that a mistake now could mean certain death. At the counter, he is mildly disappointed to find himself sold for only 40 gold, his armor and supplies fetching 20 more than himself, before he is dragged away and attached to a long chain alongside a dozen or so other slaves, most of whom bear signs of abuse and a stature of total defeat.

Some time later, his line is dragged out into a coliseum, stands filled with buyers and viewers. The auctioneer starts moving down the line, saying what he knows about each slave, their record, their skills, everything that could possibly make them valuable. Only once does anyone attempt to escape, a young Hitmonlee. He doesn't make it ten yards before the guards strike him down with spears. No one else tries to escape. Finally, it comes down to Lucien, and the acutioneer admits he doesn't know much, only that he was captured wearing odd armor and with a strange sword on his hip. Up until now, the only bidders were small time, one could tell by their dress, clean but not too fancy. But with Lucien, someone special speaks up.

"Well, if he looks a warrior, perhaps he can fight!" The shout comes from a box, the kind only the more successful citizens can afford, the man inside built and dressed well. The crowd begins to chatter and talk, speaking of the Machamp in charge of the Arena between Salis and Rinnar, famous as being the most brutal arena on this side of the world. With a laugh, the auctioneer agrees, and the guards cut his bindings and throw him into a pit, tossing down a pitiful blade before opening cage doors, revealing a couple feral Houndoom and Luxray. Picking up the battered weapon, Lucien takes up a ready stance, certain for once of victory.

The match is fast, faster than many could see. The first Houndoom lunges, struck down before he lands, the Luxray on his tail falling to the same fate. The remaining beasts are more careful, surrounding the squire. Together, the two jump, only for Lucien to roll beneath the Houndoom, blade splitting the beast's belly open, before throwing the since bloody blade into the side of the Luxray, wounding but not killing it. It attempts one last jump, but Lucien grins, twisting and ripping the sword out of its side, the sudden blood loss finishing the job. All in all, the match lasted about ten seconds, leaving the crowd and auctioneer speechless. The Arena Master cheers, throwing down a bag of gold and ordering me and my equipment collected and placed with his purchases.

Five guards come to collect him, and common sense overrides his pride as he lets them bind him again, taking him to a large covered wagon filled with other people like him, warriors to the last. Lucien sighs, wondering what would become of him now...

()


	3. Chapter 3

p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER"/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" After his brother had left, Zerran decides to take some time off. He hasn't had much time to himself recently, so he decides to relax for some time, work on his memoirs. He's spent time off and on for the past six years writing down all of his adventures over the years. Before starting on a new one, he decides to look back on his first war. Sitting down in the den, the tall warrior pulls down a battered volume, the words emFirst Blood: The Western Conflict/em emblazoned on the cover. Setting down, he opens it to the first page, looking back into memory. He was ten, and had only just started training Lucien./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" br /br /p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI had already made a name for myself when Inia first contacted me. Their king had heard of my exploits, of my prowess in battle. He offered me as much gold as I could pull in a wagon if I helped him win this war. Too bad for him he didn't know how strong I am. So, I accepted his offer and made my way north. Along the way, I had to fight my way through bandit infested forests and the fields of battle surrounding the castle. The bandits were nothing I wasn't used to. Most bands ran after I tore the first one in half with my bare hands. It was rather fun when I took down a bandit chieftain./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emHe was a somewhat famous warrior, Galahad, the Fallen Swordsman. A Gallade who had abandoned his usual morals in exchange for glory and profit. He was tall, with the trademark forest green hair of his kind, wearing elaborate silver armor. He wore a simple katana on his side, but he was a monster with his blade, faster than the wind. As I tore through his men, a number of what seemed to be geodude, he stepped forward to challenge me himself. He seemed ashamed to have to fight a child, until the first strike at least, after that he was forced to focus on survival. He was fast, and while my trademark blade seemed even larger compared to my size then, I knew it, I knew its every inch and I knew how to use it.. Before long, my more powerful strikes shattered his blade, and after that it was simple to finish. In respect of his skill, I laid the shattered remains of his blade beside him, the hilt in his hand./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" em(I really should let Lucien write these. He's more...eloquent. He knows how to make it sound better. Maybe next time he should just come with.)/em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI barged into the castle like I owned it, staring down his guard. I let them know I am the baddest thing in this room, and if I had to, I would kill every last one of them./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emThe king looked at me uncertainly, but spoke his terms: If I could break through their main line, I could have a wagon filled with as much gold as I could pull. I accepted. He asked to send a man with me, to insure all was done correctly. I allowed it. He brought the captain of his guard, a larger than average Steelix. He didn't seem very impressive. I declined, saying if someone was to accompany me, I would decide who./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emLooking about, I point at a young guardsman, a Bisharp about my own age, who introduced himself as Deacon. His armor was simple iron, but well taken care of. His hair was a vibrant red kept in a top knot, his eyes an odd dull golden color. What most intrigued me were the several different blades he wore on his body. He wore three at this time, his katana, shortsword, and saber. Later on in life he would gain four more./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emAfter a moment the king acquiesces, and I lead the young guard out with me. Walking north, he explains that the enemies employ large battalions Machoke and Timburr, and that their combined numbers and physical strength has held back the forces of Inia for days. No problem./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI march forward, and the first of the enemy rush me. Each one is struck down by my colossal blade, and before long they begin to avoid me and my blade. Deacon looked a bit confused when there was just a bubble around us, even in the midst of the fighting. We had crossed into the thick of it, but we had a good six feet of clearance around us, friend and foe alike going out of their way to avoid my range. Before long, we had crossed the battlefield and reached their base of operations./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emThey had a couple Steelix guarding the gate, the massive heavily armored warriors with their powerful clubs are commonly employed as guardians of important locations. Their size alone is often enough to intimidate most people. Then again, I'm not most people./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emWhen one swings their massive club at me, I stop it with a single hand, pulling the entire warrior forward, my blade cleaving them in half in a single swing. The other is much more hesitant to face me. He was even kind enough to open the gate for me. Of course, that was after I planted my sword beside his head. People tend to become very helpful when you can kill them with a flick of your wrist./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emInside, I was met by a Tyranitar. I don't remember his name. I remember he was an asshole and his title had something to do with a Tyrant, I don't know. All I know is that I cleaved through his club and left a massive slash over his eye and across his chest, and that after that, he was too afraid to continue. I insured his surrender, and then I left the way I came. Wait, I think his name had a "G" in it. Garret? Whatever, I'm over it./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emBack in the castle at Inia, everyone is terrified. As they should be. I've worked very hard for this reputation. Anyway, the king made a small speech, thanking me and all. Whatever. So, I picked out the biggest wagon available, and filled it to the brim with gold. The guard was more than a little hesitant. Then I grabbed the handle and started pulling it out of the gate. They shut up real quick when I did that. Rather funny, actually, the way they reacted. Only Deacon seemed unsurprised, but then again, he'd seen me in battle./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emSo, I bid them farewell, and made my way home with my loot. The bandits knew enough to not attack me this time, so nothing interesting happened on the way back. I stored my loot, brought back some shiny stuff for Lucien. Well, that's it, I guess, my recounting of the Western Conflict, my first war. It was fun./em/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" br /br /p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Zerran chuckled as he finished the first volume, amused by his memories. Standing, he replaces it, grabbing another one. It was of his early days, of clearing out the nearby forest of bandits. Sitting back down, Zerran refills his drink, enjoying his walk down memory lane./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon sits upon his throne, listening to some dignitary babble on about a possible alliance in case a nearby upstart kingdom decides to try to attack. In the corner of the room, a young, pretty Blaziken girl walks in, adorned in a beautiful crimson and gold dress, long orange hair in two ponytails down her back, her green eyes flashing with mirth. Solomon stands, cutting off the dignitary. "Tell his majesty lord Ragnavar that Rinnar is perfectly fine, and that this upstart will wilt away quickly, as they all do. Now then, leave me." Agitated and insulted, the dignitary gives a bow and storms out of the throne room, followed by members of the court, leaving only the regent, the adviser, and the lady. "Aria, you have returned." Solomon steps down from his throne to take Aria's hand. "It's good to see you, my dear."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "The feeling is mutual, my king," she replies with a sultry glance. "I needed to see you again. I can stay for a week, and I'll be back a couple weeks after that, hopefully."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon smiles for perhaps the first time in weeks. "I am glad to hear that, my love." The pair embrace, Solomon relaxing finally. "Let us retire to my chambers. Kalam, cancel my meetings for today." With his adviser's nod, the king takes his love by the arm, walking away with a smile./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Some hours later, the pair lie in bed, holding each other close. "You worry too much, dear," Aria says. "Your sister isn't helpless, you know this."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Yes, but she is far too innocent," he counters, absently rubbing her back. "She trusts far too quickly, and that is dangerous."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "But she is also often a good judge of character. Do you not remember why you decided she was able to fire her guards? Remember the Sableye?"/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Please don't remind me," he sighs. "I know exactly what my sister is capable of. I also know that she has her weaknesses, and they are mostly internal. Perhaps were she more careful about things..."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Aria cups his face with her free hand, kissing him. "Sol, I assume you have talked to Kalam?" The regent nods, calmed by his love. "And what did he have to say?"/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon looks down, a thoughtful look on his face. "He said that the solution to my problem will walk through the main door in one month's time."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Then it will be solved in one month's time. He has never been wrong, now is not the time to doubt him." The king sighs, pulling her closer./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "What would I do without you, my love?" He kisses her tenderly./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Aria smiles, laughing lightly as she pulls away. "You would likely have already gone mad with stress. Now then, no more talk of worries. Let's get dressed and have some dinner."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "RRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaGGGGGGGhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" There is a flurry of wind and objects in the tower room that Mena calls hers, her anger throwing things about and causing her hair to float about her face, her eyes glowing bright. Off to the side stands her maid and best friend, a young Lopunny girl named Lettie. She wears her long brown hair in two large pigtails, and wears glasses that slightly obscure her deep hazel eyes. She is wearing her usual outfit of a clean and simple tan dress, the only ornamentation she wears being a locket about her neck and hairpins in her pigtails, the pins coming from Mena herself. She sighs, waiting for her friend to wind down./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" After another minute of this tantrum, the wind settles, the room putting itself back together, everything going back to its rightful place. Mena floats back down to the ground, her hair and clothing settling, panting lightly. Lettie walks up, gathering her friend into a warm embrace, one Mena reciprocates. "Feel better, Mena?" The young princess nods, not letting go. "Your brother still not budging?" Another nod and a sigh, one Lettie echoes before pulling out of the hug. "Well, maybe the next guard will be better?"/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Maybe..." Mena cedes. "I'm just getting tired of all of these lecherous old men brother somehow finds."/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Ah, another one rifling through your underthings?" Mena nods, blushing. "You know he's just afraid of what would happen if he appointed another young lad like Shane-"/p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" A sudden burst of energy interrupts Lettie, gravity seeming to abandon everything in the room. Lettie gasps, covering her mouth as she realizes what she's said, apologizing profusely. Mena doesn't hear, though, lost as she is now in memories, her eyes glowing. The room rearranges itself, images appearing, showing that scene of three years ago, while the events leading up to that terrible scene replay through Mena's mind./p  
p style="color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p 


	4. Chapter 4

p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;"After his brother had left, Zerran decides to take some time off. He hasn't had much time to himself recently, so he decides to relax for some time, work on his memoirs. He's spent time off and on for the past six years writing down all of his adventures over the years. Before starting on a new one, he decides to look back on his first war. Sitting down in the den, the tall warrior pulls down a battered volume, the words emFirst Blood: The Western Conflict/em emblazoned on the cover. Setting down, he opens it to the first page, looking back into memory. He was ten, and had only just started training Lucien./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" br /br /p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI had already made a name for myself when Inia first contacted me. Their king had heard of my exploits, of my prowess in battle. He offered me as much gold as I could pull in a wagon if I helped him win this war. Too bad for him he didn't know how strong I am. So, I accepted his offer and made my way north. Along the way, I had to fight my way through bandit infested forests and the fields of battle surrounding the castle. The bandits were nothing I wasn't used to. Most bands ran after I tore the first one in half with my bare hands. It was rather fun when I took down a bandit chieftain./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emHe was a somewhat famous warrior, Galahad, the Fallen Swordsman. A Galade who had abandoned his usual morals in exchange for glory and profit. He was tall, with the trademark forest green hair of his kind, wearing elaborate silver armor. He wore a simple katana on his side, but he was a monster with his blade, faster than the wind. As I tore through his men, a number of what seemed to be geodude, he stepped forward to challenge me himself. He seemed ashamed to have to fight a child, until the first strike at least, after that he was forced to focus on survival. He was fast, and while my trademark blade seemed even larger compared to my size then, I knew it, I knew its every inch and I knew how to use it.. Before long, my more powerful strikes shattered his blade, and after that it was simple to finish. In respect of his skill, I laid the shattered remains of his blade beside him, the hilt in his hand./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" em(I really should let Lucien write these. He's more...eloquent. He knows how to make it sound better. Maybe next time he should just come with.)/em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI barged into the castle like I owned it, staring down his guard. I let them know I am the baddest thing in this room, and if I had to, I would kill every last one of them./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emThe king looked at me uncertainly, but spoke his terms: If I could break through their main line, I could have a wagon filled with as much gold as I could pull. I accepted. He asked to send a man with me, to insure all was done correctly. I allowed it. He brought the captain of his guard, a larger than average Steelix. He didn't seem very impressive. I declined, saying if someone was to accompany me, I would decide who./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emLooking about, I point at a young guardsman, a Bisharp about my own age, who introduced himself as Deacon. His armor was simple iron, but well taken care of. His hair was a vibrant red kept in a top knot, his eyes an odd dull golden color. What most intrigued me were the several different blades he wore on his body. He wore three at this time, his katana, shortsword, and saber. Later on in life he would gain four more./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emAfter a moment the king acquiesces, and I lead the young guard out with me. Walking north, he explains that the enemies employ large battalions Machoke and Timburr, and that their combined numbers and physical strength has held back the forces of Inia for days. No problem./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emI march forward, and the first of the enemy rush me. Each one is struck down by my colossal blade, and before long they begin to avoid me and my blade. Deacon looked a bit confused when there was just a bubble around us, even in the midst of the fighting. We had crossed into the thick of it, but we had a good six feet of clearance around us, friend and foe alike going out of their way to avoid my range. Before long, we had crossed the battlefield and reached their base of operations./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emThey had a couple Steelix guarding the gate, the massive heavily armored warriors with their powerful clubs are commonly employed as guardians of important locations. Their size alone is often enough to intimidate most people. Then again, I'm not most people./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emWhen one swings their massive club at me, I stop it with a single hand, pulling the entire warrior forward, my blade cleaving them in half in a single swing. The other is much more hesitant to face me. He was even kind enough to open the gate for me. Of course, that was after I planted my sword beside his head. People tend to become very helpful when you can kill them with a flick of your wrist./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emInside, I was met by a Tyrannitar. I don't remember his name. I remember he was an asshole and his title had something to do with a Tyrant, I don't know. All I know is that I cleaved through his club and left a massive slash over his eye and across his chest, and that after that, he was too afraid to continue. I insured his surrender, and then I left the way I came. Wait, I think his name had a "G" in it. Garret? Whatever, I'm over it./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emBack in the castle at Inia, everyone is terrified. As they should be. I've worked very hard for this reputation. Anyway, the king made a small speech, thanking me and all. Whatever. So, I picked out the biggest wagon available, and filled it to the brim with gold. The guard was more than a little hesitant. Then I grabbed the handle and started pulling it out of the gate. They shut up real quick when I did that. Rather funny, actually, the way they reacted. Only Deacon seemed unsurprised, but then again, he'd seen me in battle./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" emSo, I bid them farewell, and made my way home with my loot. The bandits knew enough to not attack me this time, so nothing interesting happened on the way back. I stored my loot, brought back some shiny stuff for Lucien. Well, that's it, I guess, my recounting of the Western Conflict, my first war. It was fun./em/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" br /br /p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Zerran chuckled as he finished the first volume, amused by his memories. Standing, he replaces it, grabbing another one. It was of his early days, of clearing out the nearby forest of bandits. Sitting back down, Zerran refills his drink, enjoying his walk down memory lane./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon sits upon his throne, listening to some dignitary babble on about a possible alliance in case a nearby upstart kingdom decides to try to attack. In the corner of the room, a young, pretty Blaziken girl walks in, adorned in a beautiful crimson and gold dress, long orange hair in two ponytails down her back, her green eyes flashing with mirth. Solomon stands, cutting off the dignitary. "Tell his majesty lord Ragnavar that Rinnar is perfectly fine, and that this upstart will wilt away quickly, as they all do. Now then, leave me." Agitated and insulted, the dignitary gives a bow and storms out of the throne room, followed by members of the court, leaving only the regent, the adviser, and the lady. "Aria, you have returned." Solomon steps down from his throne to take Aria's hand. "It's good to see you, my dear."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "The feeling is mutual, my king," she replies with a sultry glance. "I needed to see you again. I can stay for a week, and I'll be back a couple weeks after that, hopefully."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon smiles for perhaps the first time in weeks. "I am glad to hear that, my love." The pair embrace, Solomon relaxing finally. "Let us retire to my chambers. Kalam, cancel my meetings for today." With his adviser's nod, the king takes his love by the arm, walking away with a smile./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Some hours later, the pair lie in bed, holding each other close. "You worry too much, dear," Aria says. "Your sister isn't helpless, you know this."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Yes, but she is far too innocent," he counters, absently rubbing her back. "She trusts far too quickly, and that is dangerous."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "But she is also often a good judge of character. Do you not remember why you decided she was able to fire her guards? Remember the Sableye?"/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Please don't remind me," he sighs. "I know exactly what my sister is capable of. I also know that she has her weaknesses, and they are mostly internal. Perhaps were she more careful about things..."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Aria cups his face with her free hand, kissing him. "Sol, I assume you have talked to Kalam?" The regent nods, calmed by his love. "And what did he have to say?"/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Solomon looks down, a thoughtful look on his face. "He said that the solution to my problem will walk through the main door in one month's time."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Then it will be solved in one month's time. He has never been wrong, now is not the time to doubt him." The king sighs, pulling her closer./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "What would I do without you, my love?" He kisses her tenderly./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" Aria smiles, laughing lightly as she pulls away. "You would likely have already gone mad with stress. Now then, no more talk of worries. Let's get dressed and have some dinner."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "RRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaGGGGGGGhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" There is a flurry of wind and objects in the tower room that Mena calls hers, her anger throwing things about and causing her hair to float about her face, her eyes glowing bright. Off to the side stands her maid and best friend, a young Lopunny girl named Lettie. She wears her long brown hair in two large pigtails, and wears glasses that slightly obscure her deep hazel eyes. She is wearing her usual outfit of a clean and simple tan dress, the only ornamentation she wears being a locket about her neck and hairpins in her pigtails, the pins coming from Mena herself. She sighs, waiting for her friend to wind down./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" After another minute of this tantrum, the wind settles, the room putting itself back together, everything going back to its rightful place. Mena floats back down to the ground, her hair and clothing settling, panting lightly. Lettie walks up, gathering her friend into a warm embrace, one Mena reciprocates. "Feel better, Mena?" The young princess nods, not letting go. "Your brother still not budging?" Another nod and a sigh, one Lettie echoes before pulling out of the hug. "Well, maybe the next guard will be better?"/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Maybe..." Mena cedes. "I'm just getting tired of all of these lecherous old men brother somehow finds."/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" "Ah, another one rifling through your underthings?" Mena nods, blushing. "You know he's just afraid of what would happen if he appointed another young lad like Shane-"/p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" A sudden burst of energy interrupts Lettie, gravity seeming to abandon everything in the room. Lettie gasps, covering her mouth as she realizes what she's said, apologizing profusely. Mena doesn't hear, though, lost as she is now in memories, her eyes glowing. The room rearranges itself, images appearing, showing that scene of three years ago, while the events leading up to that terrible scene replay through Mena's mind./p  
p style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: #fffffa;" align="CENTER" /p 


End file.
